


Delivery for Mrs. Lynde

by whatletterdiana



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mainly Gilbert Pining, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, They're College-aged, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatletterdiana/pseuds/whatletterdiana
Summary: Gilbert, Toronto's top bike messenger, finally works up the courage to talk to Anne from the front desk. To his surprise, she doesn't remember him... even though he's been delivering her packages for 5 entire months.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	Delivery for Mrs. Lynde

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this is my first fic so pls be kind, but also i would absolutely love any and all feedback please <3  
> this is probably going to be a pretty short fic (and a really short chapter lol) but i don't have it all written out yet so we'll see.  
> anyways, thanks for reading and hopefully this isn't the worst writing in the world lmao
> 
> also tysm to faith, mara, niamh, may, i. and anyone else for helping out <3

Anne typed away at her desk, responding to the endless list of unread emails her boss never managed to look at. When dreaming of being a journalist, Anne pictured a quiet, friendly office, where she drank coffee and edited her work. Instead, it was a cacophony of phone calls, chatter, and Mrs. Lynde’s thundering voice calling for her receptionist, “Annie.” 

_I mean, really? How hard was it to remember the name Anne?? It’s singlehandedly the most basic English name. One single syllable and you don’t even have to pronounce half the letters._

Her bubbling annoyance towards basic pronunciation skills was interrupted by a gentle voice, “Delivery for Mrs. Lynde?” 

With the smallest glance upwards at the helmeted delivery guy, she signed the paperwork and grabbed the package out of his hands. As she returned to her sickeningly polite email exchanges, the boy lingered at the counter, itching to say something _-anything-_ to the pretty receptionist.

Instead, his body decided to infuriatingly embarrass him by forcing out a hiccup. _Yes_ , a hiccup. 

“Oh sorry,” the redhead glanced up for a split second before returning to her typing. “Did you need anything else?”

Almost relieved she didn’t properly look at him (at least she wouldn’t see his bright red cheeks), he muttered out a quick “No, sorry!” and nearly bolted out of the office.

That was the 33rd time Gilbert had delivered a package to the red headed receptionist (not that anyone was counting).

At this point, the security guard watching the cameras wasn’t even surprised when he saw Gilbert bang his head against the elevator wall repeatedly. It was a tradition, you could say.

And, just like every other day, Gilbert waved sheepishly as he jogged back outside and fumbled to unlock his bike.

Honestly, he kind of liked being a bike messenger. If he forgot about the biting cold, getting to experience the parts of Toronto he had never seen before was sort of exciting. Every other part of his life was so… quiet and still. But when he was working, it was the sound of angry drivers yelling, the low hum of the train, coworkers chatting as he zoomed by; it all made him feel so small in a world so big. 

He quite liked feeling that way, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Anne did too. He wondered a lot of things about Anne.

In actuality, he really didn’t know anything about her other than the few crumbs he picked up during his delivery trips:

  1. Her name is Anne (which was displayed on her cutely decorated name tag).
  2. She probably likes Winnie the Pooh, which he could once again tell from her decorated name tag (also this sort of bugged him because since when were stickers considered appropriate work attire??)
  3. She works at Toronto Sun, a local newspaper on the 6th floor of an ugly, brown skyscraper.



And lastly, Gilbert knew that she was completely oblivious. Either that or completely uninterested in him. He had tried to start a conversation with her during 12 of the 33 encounters… and failed miserably every time. 

His brain just seemed to stop working the instant he stepped into the office, and all he could ever manage to say was: “Deliver for Mrs. Lynde?”


End file.
